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Not What You Expect

My hand holds the knife As it hovers in the air Awaiting to massacre the dead. Every cut precise And meticulously planned No matter the bloody mess. Pieces of flesh fill the air. Some discarded as waste. Some saved for taste. Split open bones with Nerves exposed as I Finish my task at hand. Clean up the blood And prepare the salad For our fresh chicken dinner.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things